


Consequence

by fuzzybatbutts



Series: Lessons To Be Learned [13]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games), Titanfall (Video Games)
Genre: AMAB Bloodhound (Apex Legends), Aftercare, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Feels, Begging, Bloodhound Headcanons (Apex Legends), Body Modification, Bottom Mirage | Elliott Witt, Bruises, Caning, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Cock & Ball Torture, Comfort, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Genital Torture, Humiliation, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kneeling, M/M, Minor Injuries, Other, Post-Coital Cuddling, Punishment, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Subspace, Verbal Humiliation, Weird Biology, a lil bit, just a lil bit, kind of, uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22011157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzybatbutts/pseuds/fuzzybatbutts
Summary: Hound makes good on their promise of punishment, but it doesn't go exactly according to plan.
Relationships: Bloodhound/Mirage | Elliott Witt
Series: Lessons To Be Learned [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1330520
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66





	Consequence

**Author's Note:**

> Ufufufufufu it's angst time kiddos
> 
> ALSO READ THE TAGS BECAUSE TRIGGER WARNINGS

Elliott gnawed at his lower lip as he sat on the bed, wringing his hands into the sheets. Hound was in the bathroom, shucking their layers of clothing and taking their dear sweet time with it. He knew it was a trick, to get his heart rate up so he’d begin to panic, and yet it was working wonderfully. The anticipation of punishment was somehow always worse than the punishment itself, especially since he could never really predict what they were going to do to him. They were imaginative in a way he couldn’t comprehend, always knowing the perfect thing to do to him to keep him in line. 

He’d been kicking himself about it since they’d left the range, anger boiling in his blood despite it all being directed at himself. All his mistakes tended to follow a pattern, and they all began with his inability to just do as he was told. He always tried to open his mouth first instead of just listening to what Hound asked of him, and it was the reason why he was stuck where he was, listening to them hum through the bathroom door. 

They’d taken him to a hotel in a very seedy part of the city, the kind where no one would ask questions if they heard any kind of suspicious noises from the rooms. He was pretty sure it was a pay-by-the-hour kind of establishment, but it was mostly vacant during the day. Their room was at the end of a long hallway, so there were less neighbors to get concerned if they- well,  _ he- _ got noisy. He hadn’t been allowed to book the room, since his face was too well known and Hound hadn’t wanted to draw any kind of attention to themselves. They had a porcelain mask that covered their entire face- something that had been a kind of underground fashion trend in the city a few months back- so no one would think it was too unusual to see someone wandering around in one. Solace could have a pretty weird definition of fashion, and he’d definitely seen weirder in his days as a bartender. 

He was jealous in a way, of Hound’s anonymity, because it meant they could do whatever they wanted without scrutiny, whereas he had to keep a baseball cap on his head and his eyes to the ground. No one would question someone wearing leather gloves and a mask because it could be explained away as trendy, but a guy lurking around trying not to look suspicious would  _ always _ end up looking suspicious, so he just waited in the car until they flashed a room key at him. There were definite downsides to being a media darling, and he almost missed the quiet of the cabin, where he could lay down at night and almost suffocate in the silence. He loved the buzz of cities, where there was always something to do and someone to do it with, but having Hound along did make it a bit more tricky. If he was spotted, people would question who he was with, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t end well if they somehow guessed right. 

They’d immediately excused themself to the bathroom, leaving their porcelain mask on the nightstand to glare at him menacingly. He knew they had their black metal domino underneath it, so at least that was something familiar. A comforting constant, something he knew he’d see as long as they were around. It was better to focus on that than the dingy state of the room, and what he hoped were water stains on the ceiling. They’d asked him to close all the curtains, so it was the usual dim lighting he was familiar with. It was one of those rooms that people did everything but sleep in, and he knew Hound hadn’t dragged him there for a peaceful afternoon snooze. 

The bathroom door opened and Hound stepped out, yawning lazily into the crook of their elbow. They were usually asleep at this time of day, and Elliott hoped they wouldn’t be cranky. They’d shed their usual kit in favor of a tank-top and loose pants, their hair its usual mussed crown of thorny, white spikes. They gave him a smile that was everything but reassuring as they walked to the bed and started to dig through a large duffle bag, where they’d stashed most of their gear. He wasn’t sure if how casual they were being was a good thing or not, but what he did know was that it was extremely unsettling. 

They started to pull items from the bag, lining them up neatly on the bed next to him. A leather paddle was first, the tamest of all the instruments they used to make his life hell. It still hurt, but it was more for minor offenses, and they liked bending him over their knee when they used it. A riding crop was next; a slightly more painful and direct weapon. The crop was okay unless they were directing it at his chest, because the bruises on his nipples wouldn’t fade for almost a week, and Hound liked to nip them when they knew they were sore. The blood drained from his face when lastly, they produced a familiar rattan cane from deep within the bag. He hated the cane with a passion, and Bloodhound knew it. They must have brought it expecting him to make a grievous mistake of some kind, and he felt ashamed that he’d proven them right. It was an awful kind of pain, and something that even his masochistic side couldn’t really take a lot of pleasure in. He’d rather they just kick him in the stomach a couple times, since the resulting nausea would be more tolerable than the incessant burning pain brought on by the cane. 

Hound must have seen the fear in his eyes because their face just lit up even more. They tapped it against their palm a couple times, taking delight as they watched Elliott begin to squirm. It took all his self control not to flinch as he heard it whistling through the air, because he didn’t want them tacking on extra hits if he could help it. He was praying they’d leave the soles of his feet alone this time, since he didn’t want to show up to his meeting with Anita with a limp. 

“I am going to give you a choice. You can pick which of these lovely things I will use on you, because I am feeling generous.”

The choice was a dangerous one. If he went with the paddle, they’d probably swing twice as hard, or mock him for going too easy. It was also the loudest, and he didn’t want to have his ears ringing all night. The crop was the middle ground, the safest option, but that meant it was boring. He didn’t want to pick the cane, but he hoped that his boldness might impress them, and they’d maybe go easy on him. It was likely wishful thinking, but at least the pain of the cane was a good motivator to just do whatever the hell they wanted as quickly as possible.

He pointed a finger at the cane, but Hound’s face stayed neutral. 

“Ask nicely.”

Elliott resisted the urge to groan. He really didn’t want that thing anywhere near him, and now he was supposed to beg convincingly that he did. He was a good actor when he needed to be, but he didn’t have that level of faith in his abilities. 

“Please punish me with the cane.”

“Hm. Why should I?”

“Because I’ve been bad.” 

“A bad what?”

“A ba-”

Hound shook their head. “No, start from the beginning.”

“Beca-”

“No,” they repeated firmly, “I said from the beginning.”

Now he wanted to scream, but he just clenched his hands into fist and tried to keep himself calm. “Please punish me with the cane, because I’ve been a bad boy.” 

“You do not sound very genuine. Again.” 

“ _ Please _ punish me with the cane, because I’ve been a bad boy.” 

He still hated having to call himself that. It was almost dehumanizing, and it made his skin crawl whenever they made him say it. They seemed to like when he’d talk himself down like that, but he still must have been missing something because they just stared at him expectantly. An idea sprung to mind, and he hoped they’d like it, because the self loathing at being forced to beg for something he hated was starting to creep back in. 

“I’ve been a bad boy, so please be generous and punish me with the cane, because I  _ deserve  _ it for disobeying you.” 

That must have finally done the trick, because they nodded at him and tightened their grip around the cane. 

“Are you ready, Elliott?”

He swallowed hard and nodded his head, hands aching from how hard he was squeezing them. 

“Good. Pants off, and kneel on the bed.”

If they were going for his ass or thighs, they must have been going easy on him. If they wanted him to really regret it, they went for his chest or his feet. 

He still hated having to strip in front of Hound, especially while they stood over him like a teacher about to smack a student with a ruler. It made him feel impossibly small, especially since he could feel their eyes examining every inch of him. He tried to take it as a compliment, but it just made him want to cover himself with a bedsheet. They’d called him pretty enough times that he knew they were just enjoying the view, but the side of him that was easily embarrassed wished they’d do it in a less obvious manner. He could always see them licking their lips when they made him bend over, like he was just a piece of meat they couldn’t wait to devour. 

Elliott set his pants down on the bed next to him and followed their instructions, looking up at them once he’d finished to wait for the next ones. 

“Turn around.” 

He was happy they were at least keeping it simple. Sometimes they’d throw a long list at him just to watch him struggle to remember all of it, especially since they knew he’d usually fail.

“Disobedient sluts do not get the privilege of looking at me while I discipline them, so touch your forehead to the bed. Ass in the air, and you do not move from that position. Now, you are going to apologize for earlier today, and each time you mess up, I am going to hit you, so this ends whenever you decide it ends. Am I understood,  _ mín hóra _ ?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Whenever you are ready, Kær.”

Elliott took in a shaky breath. He’d thought his dignity was all but gone, but it had a strange way of creeping back in whenever he really didn’t need it to. He just needed to get this over and done with, and then he could meet Anita and do his best to forget about his mistakes.

_ Whack! _

Elliott cursed and pushed his head into the blanket as hard as he could, trying to escape from the pain without pulling away. The strike had hurt much more than he’d anticipated, as Hound usually had the good graces to start soft. It was a hot, burning sensation from where the cane had connected with his ass. They were using more of the cane’s surface than usual as well, and the thud from it jolted him forward. 

“I said not to move.”

_ Whack! _

The force of the wood knocked him forward yet again. He couldn’t stay still without pushing back, moving his ass towards the cane and taking the impact at full force. 

“Do not keep me waiting, Elliott. I have avoided your head, so there is no excuse for you being so slow.”

“I’m sorry.”

_ Whack! _

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for disobeying you.”

_ Whack! _

“Try again. Specific examples, please.”

_ Whack! _

Elliott swore into the bedsheets, spitting out the curses through gritted teeth. 

_ Whack! _

“Watch your mouth.”

_ Then stop fucking hitting me! _

Hound never liked him swearing even though he knew they cursed themself, and he found their hypocrisy more than slightly annoying during times like these. It wasn’t often he got angry with Hound, but it was one of the little things that got under his skin.

“I’m sorry for not getting on my knees when you asked me to.” 

“Asked?”

_ Whack! _

“I’m sorry for not getting on my knees when you told me to.”

It felt like Hound was igniting little fires across his skin. They were aiming for the same area, making sure to line up their strikes so it hit the same patches of skin over and over again. He knew from experience that the cane could split skin, and he knew they had all the patience in the world when it came to punishing him, so he wouldn’t be surprised if they poked holes in his answers until they drew blood. 

“Very good. What else?”

“I’m…” 

_ Whack! _

Elliott was trying to recall the events of the day clearly, but he was drawing a blank on what else he’d done wrong. His hesitation had been the cause of that strike, and he feared he’d be getting even more of them if he couldn’t think of something soon. 

“Hm, maybe I was wrong to bring the cane. With how long this is taking you, it is almost like you are enjoying it. I swear, you make it such a bother to punish you. I have never had to deal with someone so masochistic that I struggle to hurt them.”

_ Whack! _

“No matter, I guess I will just move elsewhere, if your ass brings you such pleasure.”

They tapped the tip of the cane against his thighs, and Elliott cringed at the low whine that involuntarily left his mouth. “Oh? Do you finally want me to stop hitting you? Or do you just not want me to hit you here?”

Elliott was well enough versed in Hound’s taunts that he knew it wasn’t really a question. They were going to hit him wherever they wanted to, and they would only hit harder if he tried to get out of it. His thighs hurt much more than his ass, and there was a wider area to hit, so they could really wail on them if they decided to truly make him hurt. 

“What about here?”

They tapped it against the top of his balls, and Elliott felt his heart race at the prospect of taking a hit somewhere like that. Still, he couldn’t refuse, because his opinion didn’t actually matter. He  _ really  _ didn’t want them to hit him there, but they weren’t usually in business of caring what he thought. If he hadn’t made a mistake, he wouldn’t be in this situation, so he only had himself to blame for his lack of agency. 

“I want you to hit me wherever you think I should be hit.” 

“Oh,  _ good boy _ . Now that is something I  _ love _ to hear. Do you know what else I love, my dear Elliott?” 

_ Whack! _

Elliott cried out as the cane struck him, hitting both of his thighs and his balls all in one blow. It was a white-hot pain, blinding in its intensity and all consuming in its presence. 

“I just love what I can force from that mouth of yours. I confess, I do not mind that you are so intent on being disobedient, because it means I get to hear you  _ sing _ .” 

_ Whack! _

It came down again, slightly lower down and Elliott knew he couldn’t take this for much longer. They’d only hit him twice, but the pain was unlike anything he’d felt before. It was unbearable, and they weren’t even hitting him very hard yet. If they really put their effort into it, he was going to pass out. He was starting to panic, the pain making it hard to think clearly about what exactly they wanted. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, sudden tears soaking the bed sheets, “I’m sorry I enjoy this so much. I’m sorry you have to keep doing this. I’m sorry I can’t follow orders.” 

_ Whack! _

It felt like the apologies were a tidal wave, and he was just clinging onto them, hoping they’d satiate Hound. Now that he’d thrown open the door, it felt impossible to stop. He was desperate to avoid that pain again, or to avoid taking hits anywhere else. He knew he deserved it for messing up, but he was terrified of the pain and how far they’d push him. 

“I’m sorry that I’m the way I am. I’m sorry I forget to be grateful. I’m sorry I keep making you hurt me.” 

It was a swarm of insecurities, a horde of things he tried to keep buried, and it was all coming out, regardless of whether or not it was what they’d asked him for.

“I’m sorry I keep wasting your time. I’m sorry that I keep having to apologizing instead of learning. I’m sorry that I’m so useless and  _ thank you _ for keeping me around, and thank you for giving me these chances, and-”

“Elliott,” said Hound softly, “Elliott, you can stop now.” 

The sobs wouldn’t stop. His chest was aching from heaving, and his whole body was shaking. He was terrified, humiliated by what he was admitting. 

“No! No, no there’s more! I-”

“Elliott,” they repeated, voice firm, “I said stop.” 

“I can’t!” he cried, “I can’t because I can’t do anything right! I can’t even  _ fucking _ listen! I-I…. I…” 

He couldn’t speak. There was no getting a word in between the sobbing, which had stolen his voice now too. He cried into his hands, ugly and loud, equal parts scared and disgusted, sick with worry at how Hound was going to react to seeing him like this. He’d wondered why they kept him around, but he’d never admitted out loud to himself. He couldn’t follow their most basic demands, so he didn’t understand why they wasted their time. He just couldn’t be worth all the effort they put into him, not when he was reduced to a crying mess by just a few strikes.

Something cold laid across his back. It was their hand, a comforting weight on his shoulder blade. He gained composure long enough to tilt his head sideways, just enough to see Hound kneeling on the bed next to him, with an expression of what he didn’t dare dream to call worry on their face. It couldn’t have been  _ worry _ , there was no way it was. The way their mouth was turned wasn’t out of concern, it must have been some other emotion that he couldn’t understand. They wouldn’t bother themself by worrying about him, sniveling like a child when he should have been groveling instead. He couldn’t even apologize right. 

_ Pathetic... _

Hound slid their hand under his cheek and lifted his face up, and he was certain their frown would curdle into a sneer, disgusted by his reddened face and how much his nose was running. Instead, they pulled him towards them, and he let them maneuver his body until he was a tangle of limbs in their lap, crying into their chest as they…  _ held  _ him. 

“Shh,” they soothed, smoothing down his hair, “You’re okay, you can stop crying now. You… you did a good job, Elliott. I am not angry with you.” 

Bloodhound was always cold, their whole body seemingly suffering from the same poor circulation as their hands, but it was a calming chill. Elliott’s skin was on fire, consumed by an inferno that was going to burn him up if he let go of them, so he clung to their shirt and let them wrap their arms around him, rocking him slightly. They were muttering quietly into his hair, nothing in english, but it was calming, easing him off the edge. It was melodic, though unlike anything he’d ever heard. It was more of a chant than a song, but it lulled him into a peaceful state, where he could just let some of the tension fall from his body and curl up against them. Hound was all hard muscle and sharp edges, but their strength was reassuring, steady as a stone pillar and equally as reliable, even when he was reduced to this. 

After the worst of the sobs had passed he felt his body sag, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over him as Hound continued to hold him. 

“Are you alright?” asked Hound, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” replied Elliott, suddenly aware of the feeling of awkwardness that hung in the air. Hound’s arms were stiff, like they weren’t sure of what exactly they were doing either. They’d never so much as given him a hug, and now they were cradling him like a lover. It seemed far too intimate for them, especially considering the nature of their relationship. The closest they’d gotten to this was one of the few times he’d helped them limp their way to the river, or taking some of their weight when they needed help standing back up. It was more of a caretaker’s duty than anything else, something he told himself he only did because it was the right thing to do, and because no one deserved to be in pain alone. This was something else, and he wasn’t sure yet if he liked it or not because he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. 

“How are you feeling?”

_ Wow, that’s a loaded question. _

“Tired. Sore, but mostly tired.” 

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth because Elliott wasn’t entirely sure what the whole truth was and he didn’t want to think too hard about it. 

“That is,” Hound hesitated, a touch of discomfort evident in their voice, “Understandable.”

They paused for a moment before continuing. “Elliott, I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted, preferring risking punishment if it meant they didn’t have to talk about it. He didn’t want to know what they were going to say. If it was going to be a cutting remark, he wasn’t in the right headspace to take it, and the possibility of it being anything else was uncomfortable. He didn’t want an apology from them because they hadn’t done anything wrong, though he doubted that was what they were going to say anyway. They only said they were sorry if they were mocking him, and his emotional state was too fragile at the moment to consider that this time it might have been genuine. 

“You should rest then, if you are so tired. Your friend will still be expecting you.” 

Anita. He’d forgotten about her. She hadn’t given him a time to meet up, but it wouldn’t be until later in the evening. He would have texted her, but his phone had disappeared when Hound had taken him and he hadn’t seen it since then. 

“I don’t have a way to contact her.”

“I do, but you should rest a bit first. You sound exhausted.” 

He was exhausted, and although the shitty mattress was stiff as a board, it looked extremely appealing. “Yeah, okay. Can you…” 

“I will wake you up in a bit and make sure you have enough time to go home and change.” 

“Do I not smell good again?” he said, chuckling at his own weak attempt at a joke. 

He felt them laugh in response, his head bobbing as their chest moved. “No, you smell fine, Elliott.”

It was incredible how every time they said his name, it sounded a bit different. They could reduce his emotions to nothing but pure fear, or, in times like this, they could bring about a sense of comfort just by saying it. He didn’t know why their words would affect him so greatly, but he was thankful for it, because it brought about a sense of peace that could shut everything else out. There was no panic, no fear, no self loathing, only his name in their mouth and the steady rise and fall of their chest. He chose to focus on that, and to let himself close his eyes for a moment. He could worry about Anita and the rest of the world later, but for now he was comfortable and secure, which was all that mattered. 

____

“Elliott, over here!”

Anita’s booming voice cut through the chatter of the bar with ease. She was seated in a both in the back corner, waving her arm to catch his attention. He waved back and gently elbowed his way through the crowd. It was busy tonight, but the energy of the crowd was a nice change from the quiet of the cabin. 

“Hey! Sorry I’m late, the traffic was killer!”

“It’s fine. I told you eight, but I got here closer to eight-thirty since I figured you’d be late anyway.” 

“I’m usually on time, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Witt, you’re a bad liar and you know it. You are the most chronically late person I have ever known. I think in the dozens of times we’ve gone out together, you’ve been on time twice.”

She had him there. He’d fallen asleep on Hound and hadn’t been able to call her when he’d wanted to, and he hadn’t had much time or the proper supplies in the hotel room to clean up. His beard was in desperate need of a trim, and his hair was still wet from his hasty shower. 

Elliott sat down on the hard foam seat and scooted closer, so he could hear her better over the din of the bar patrons. He tried not to wince as it dug into one of the numerous bruises on his ass. He’d checked them out in the mirror before leaving, and he was grateful he wasn’t going to have to wear shorts anytime soon, since the bruises were extremely dark and very long. 

“Well I’m buying tonight, so quit your complaining.” 

“I’ll drink to that.”

Anita raised her stein in mock salute and took a drink. “You having anything or are you gonna make a girl drink alone?”

“Yes, something strong that doesn’t taste like ass, preferably.” 

He waved a waitress over and ordered a cocktail. He turned back to see Anita staring at him, eyebrow raised. “You feeling okay, Witt?”

“Yeah? Why, do I look sick or something?”

“No, but I think that’s the first waitress we’ve had that you haven’t flirted with at least a little bit.” 

_ Oh crap. _

“Nah, I think I’ll let you have this one, I’m feeling generous tonight. She’s not really my type, anyway.” 

“I’ll pass. I’m seeing someone.” 

“Oh?”

Anita rolled her eyes. “Yeah, which you would have known if you hadn’t ghosted me for over a month.” 

“Wait, over a month?”

“Yes? Elliott, do you even know what day it is today?” 

He opened his mouth, but he honestly didn’t. He hadn’t really been keeping track of the days since he’d been with Hound. All he knew was that he’d been in the basement for ‘a few nights’, but nothing really more than that. He didn’t know how long Hound had kept him unconscious after they’d taken him from the alleyway, but it felt like he’d only been gone a couple of weeks max. 

“Elliott? You in there?”

“I don’t suppose I can just ask you nicely to drop that subject, can I?”

“Nope.” 

“Not even if I offer you another drink?”

“Elliott,” she said, a hint of warning beginning to creep into her voice. 

He sighed, trying to figure out exactly what he was going to say. He’d been so preoccupied trying to get there on time that he hadn’t thought out his story well enough. He didn’t want to lie, but it was a matter of safety. He didn’t know what would happen if he told Anita about Hound, only that it wouldn’t end well for either of them. Hound had their claws too deeply into him for them to just give him up, and although he had faith Anita could look after herself, he didn’t want to risk anything. 

A part of him didn’t want to tell her, but not because he was scared. He’d grown used to life around Hound and everything it came with, a part of him enjoyed it. It was peaceful more often than it was chaotic, which was more than he could say of life in Solace. When they actually spoke, they were good company, and some traitorous part of him didn’t want to give them up. He was worried, though he didn’t like to admit it, of what would happen if they were alone. They hadn’t even been able to get out of bed one day, and the thought of them going through that without someone out there to help them made his heart ache. It was awful to think of them, alone in the cabin, freezing and writhing in pain in bed. He didn’t know how they’d dealt with it before he was there, but they didn’t deserve to go through it alone again. No one did.

“Elliott, I was so worried about you. I looked everywhere, but no one knew where the hell you’d gone. I went to the bar, but they said you hadn’t told them anything either. I thought something awful had happened to you.” 

“Something bad did happen, but I’m fine now, I swear.”

“So what happened then? You said you were going to tell me about the arena before you disappeared, is that it?”

She’d given him an out, and he knew he didn’t have anything better to go off of.

“What did you hear about that competition?”

Anita looked suspicious, but she still replied. “I heard that that maniac with the gas was there, and that the floor of the caverns looked like soup after he was done with everyone. I heard that they had to scrape one of the poor kids’ brains off of the floor, but that no one saw who did it.” 

Elliott shuddered, but it was genuine. He hated thinking about that day, even if he’d had some time away to recover from it. Seeing Hound go ballistic like that had been terrifying, and he still hadn’t seen their anger rival that moment since. 

“I was down there for that. I was an idiot and I ran in ahead of Bloodhound, and I took a bullet to my side. I went down, and they had to put everyone else down before they could save me. The gas made my flesh…  _ burn _ . Jesus Christ, it hurts just trying to think about it.”

Anita put her hand on top of his. He squeezed it and stared down at the table, trying to recall the events properly. He knew he needed to leave certain pieces out if he wanted to protect both himself and Hound.

“They tried to rescue me, but we weren’t alone. They had to deal with the other competitors, and all I could do was lay there in agony. I’d put my foot through some poor bastards ribcage trying to run into there. It snapped like it was nothing, and I couldn’t get it back out. I couldn’t really see through the gas, but I heard something… crunching. I think it was that kid’s skull.”

“Oh Jesus.”

He swallowed hard and continued on. “I know Hound had to deal with the last ones alone bu-”

“Are you saying they’re the one that did that?”

Her stare was intense, but he couldn’t falter, or he’d risk making them look worse. “No, no I don’t think so. They didn’t have time to do something like that. They picked me up and hauled me out of there when the medics found us. I don’t really remember a lot after that. They shipped me off to the hospital since they were worried I had a bullet lodged in my guts, but it punched clean through. I got lucky, since it missed everything important.

“After that, I just wasn’t doing well. I couldn’t forget about that, which I know I told you about.”

Elliott knew where his story could go. He’d told her over the phone that it was a family matters, and he had a more obvious out now. He felt horrible, but Anita knew what it was like to lose family and to feel worried about them, so it was the one she’d most likely understand. It was a special kind of self loathing, knowing he was trying to manipulate his friend, but it was what he needed to do to keep everyone safe. If he just told himself that’s why he was doing it, he could justify it. 

“That night after we got together, I got a call from my mother’s doctor. He was worried that she was starting to forget things faster, but she was refusing to have a nurse to look after her. I needed some time away from everything since I was still healing, and it was enough of an emergency that I didn’t really have time to think. He mentioned that he was scared she was going to hurt herself by accident, or wander off somewhere. So I just left to go make sure she was okay. She fussed over me a fair bit, but she was doing better than the doctor made it seem, so I didn’t have to stay for incredibly long. I wanted to stay longer, but she shooed me out and told me to stop trying to be the parent. 

“Look, I’m really sorry that I didn’t tell you. I was in a bad headspace, and I know that’s not an excuse, but I need you to understand that I was really worried about her. She hasn’t been handling it the best since it’s rare for someone her age, and I didn’t want her to be alone. I haven’t been around her as much as I should, and it’s really not good for her to worry so much.”

It wasn’t the truth, but it  _ was _ something that he’d been worried about. She’d be worried sick that he hadn’t called for so long, and he was hoping Hound would allow him to give her a call and check up on her. As far as he knew, she was still more than capable of functioning on her own, but he’d worry less if he knew for sure. 

“How bad is she?” Anita asked. Her voice had gone quiet, and there was a softness in her face that he didn’t often see. Anita’s gentler side didn’t often make an appearance, but when it did it had a way of soothing his nerves. 

“Not great, but she’s still holding it together well enough,” he admitted. He rarely talked to anyone about his mom, because he knew how much she valued her privacy, but Anita knew how to keep a secret. “She forgets who I am sometimes, but she usually snaps out of it pretty quickly. She still drowns herself in her work, but the doctor says it’s good that she can still remember all of it since it’s pretty intricate stuff. I’m sure next time I visit her she’ll have some new gadget to shove in my face, or blueprints she needs help with. She still gets stuck on the concepts, and I’m usually pretty good at helping her work out the kinks when they pop up.” 

Anita smiled. “Yeah, it’s good that she’s still independent. I was worried you’d gotten yourself into some kind of trouble or something.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Nah, I’m okay. No seedy business ventures for me, I’m afraid.”

“That’s good. I don’t have time to swoop in and save your ass anyway.”

He was eager to shift the spotlight away from him, and he was more than okay to listen to Anita talk for a bit. “Oh? Is this because of this mystery women I’ve heard nothing about?”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine, now  _ tell _ me, damn it.” 

She sighed and took another drink. “It’s nothing serious. She’s a bit younger than me, b-”

“Ooo, Anita the cougar, hm?”

“You callin’ me old, Witt?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Keep going.”

Her glare could have melted through steel, but she obliged him. “Anyway, like I was saying before I was interrupted, she’s a bit younger, but she’s got a good head on her. Kinda shy, but once you get to know her she’s pretty chatty. Not as bad as you, though.”

“Hey!”

She chuckled. “You two would probably get along just fine. I wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgewise, but it’d be funny seeing you two together. She’s somehow shorter than you.” 

“Man, you’re just  _ determined _ to ride my dick tonight, huh?”

“You wish.” 

___

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously, as he watched Hound roll out a small case of tools on his kitchen table. 

“One of the tubes has a crack, I need to replace it.”

“No, I meant in my apa-”

“And I may need your help, so come over here and sit next to me, please.” 

He suppressed a frustrated sigh and let his coat fall to the ground as he walked over. Leave it to Hound to misunderstand a basic question. 

Anita had left early and insisted he do the same, saying she didn’t want him falling asleep on her in the ring. He’d argued that it wasn’t for another couple of days, but arguing with Anita was a pointless endeavor. She’d hugged him goodbye, which he blamed on the steadily-growing pile of glasses near her end of the table, and left him to take a taxi home. He’d been looking forward to sleeping in his own bed for a change, and having a small part of the evening to himself so could relax. He’d wanted to take a bath, but the minute he unlocked his door his hopes had been dashed. While he wasn’t surprised that Hound knew where he lived, he wasn’t happy to find them sitting at his table. They hadn’t even bothered to look up when he walked through the door. 

Elliott sat in the chair next to them and watched as they flipped through an old leather notebook, filled with large, looping handwriting and several hand-drawn diagrams. The ink had faded to a dark grey, and several paragraphs were highlighted or crossed out, with notations in red ink and a different script written in the margins. The red ink was barely legible, like the book had been given to a very young child to practice their writing in. Aside from doctors, he didn’t know of anyone who still wrote in proper cursive, aside from calligraphers trying to make something look fancy. 

Green and yellow tabs marked off different sections, and Hound had to thumb through several before they found what they were looking for. The books spine creaked as they flattened it out onto the table, weighing it down with a glass so they could look at the drawings. Elliott could see a hastily done sketch of an arm, with various lines and notes pointing to different sections of it. There were tubes drawn in blue ink that matched the ones on Hound’s arm, and the page was splattered with what looked like the fluid that flowed through them. 

He watched as they unwrapped the oilcloth bundle and picked up a replacement tube from inside, holding it up to the light to make sure it was free from any defects. There were others in the bundle as well, all of different sizes and lengths. Elliott didn’t know the locations of all the tubes, but he assumed the biggest were designed for their neck and chest, since they were longer than any of the ones he’d seen on their limbs. This one wasn’t as big, and he could see the one it would be replacing just above their elbow, a spiderweb of small cracks across its surface. 

He’d wondered privately about the tubes and their purpose, or what would happen if they broke. He assumed nothing good, but he didn’t know anything about them and with Hound it was better to not assume. 

“What happened?”

“Something fell on it.”

He waited for them to elaborate further, but they ignored him and kept reading. He crossed his arms and stared at the table, knowing from experience that pressing further wouldn’t end well.

“Elliott, pass me the gauze over there, will you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Hound stuck out their hand, nose still down in their book as they waited. There was a pile of the gauze in front of him, out of arms’ reach for them. Elliott picked up a handful of the soft material and went to give it to them, but he froze up when he spared a glance at their arm.

Row after row of neat, white scars cross-crossed their pale flesh, varying in size and shape. Some he could barely see, while others were raised and nearly as wide as a finger. The bigger ones had a reddish tinge, only really visible if he looked hard enough. For scars that big, it was a miracle they weren’t more obvious. They must have done something to fade them, but the more he looked, the more seemed to magically appear. It was layers upon layers of scars, and at just a glance it almost looked like there was no patch of fresh skin left. The areas around and under the tubing hadn’t been spared either, all of it covered in a patchwork of hatch-marks. There were far too many for them to be just from accidents or hunting mishaps. It looked more like they’d gotten tangled in barbed wire and then been forced to pull themselves free. He’d never really seen them in such bright lighting before, and in the dim of their cabin they didn’t really need to hide them since he could barely see. It was mostly their forearm, but he could still spot several bad ones past the crook of their elbow. 

He felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. How had he never noticed these before? There was no hiding them in the harsh light of the kitchen, and they’d made no effort to conceal them. If Hound ever went out in the day uncovered, they’d have to wear long sleeves or gloves, or risk attracting a ton of attention. 

_ Is this… is this why they keep themself covered?  _

It made sense if it was, but he wasn’t certain what they were from. The answer seemed obvious, but he never would have marked Hound as the kind of person to do something like that to themself. They looked old, but if they had gotten them faded, then there was no telling when the injuries had taken place. With this amount of scar tissue, he knew it must have taken some time to accumulate them all. You just couldn’t inflict that much damage in one go, not without needing a doctor. 

Most haunting of all was the one down the center of their arm, three inches long, that ended abruptly halfway, like whatever had caused it changed its mind. He’d seen a similar scar before, on the wrist of one of his brothers who’d had significant problems when he was young. It had almost gotten him rejected from the military, but their need of live bodies eventually outweighed their care about the soldier’s mental health. He remembered the feeling of helplessness seeing his brother’s body slowly covered in more and more bandages, and that helplessness was exactly what he felt now. 

He wanted to deny them, but despite his inner protests, he knew damn well what they were. There was simply nothing else they  _ could _ be. He couldn’t mention them, but it also wasn’t in his nature to ignore someone who was hurting. 

_ Calm down. I don’t even know when this happened… _

It could have been a decade ago. Considering he didn’t even know Hound’s age, it could have been two or  _ more _ decades ago. He also remembered his brother constantly venting about how much he detested questions about them, how invasive they were, and how upsetting it was to be constantly reminded of a past he’d rather have forgotten. It would probably be the same with Hound, especially since they’d really given no insight into their past whatsoever. If he needed to know, they’d tell him, and he probably didn’t need to know whatever had caused them to do this. It was irrelevant, but it left him in an uncomfortable spot nonetheless. 

“Elliott?”

Hound’s voice snapped him back to the present, and they were looking at him confused. 

“Is something wrong?”

_ Yes, it looks like your arm got mauled by a fucking tiger and I can’t say anything about it because that’s rude and you’ll get mad. _

“N-no, s-sorry. J-just got distracted thinking about the upc-coming game.” 

He worried for a minute that the stutter would give him away, like it usually did when he was nervous. Months of speech therapy tended to disappear from his mind when he had to lie, and he hated lying to Hound. 

“Then give me gauze, please.”

“Oh! Right, y-yeah, sorry.”

He placed the gauze in their hand a little too roughly and jerked his hand away, averting his eyes and hoping they wouldn’t clue in to his discomfort. 

“Thank you.” 

He allowed himself to watch as they tightened a rubber tourniquet around their arm using their teeth, cutting off the blood flow to their bicep. His love was for engineering, not biology, but Hound was an interesting combination of the two and he allowed his curiosity to distract him for the time being. It was easier to focus on older unanswered questions than this new, glaring one, especially since they were doing this so freely in front of him. 

They picked up a small clamp from the roll and placed it on the skin just above the tube, cutting off the last of the blood flow and holding it steady. Next was a small bottle of something that they dipped a cotton swab in and applied it to where the tube was capped with a silver metal, before it disappeared under the skin. Hound let it sit for a moment before they rolled the tube in their fingers, pulling it away from them as they unscrewed it. They unscrewed the other side and set it on the table, wiping away any fluid that dripped with the gauze. Hound took a second to brace themself, like they were preparing for something that was going to be painful. They grimaced as they put the new one in place, twisting it until they were certain it would stay in place. 

“Does that hurt?”

Elliott clapped his hands over his mouth. The question had just slipped out, and he began mentally preparing himself for a world of hurt if Hound found the question offensive. 

“No, it is just an uncomfortable sensation.”

He nodded dumbly, keeping his hands in place so he wouldn’t slip up. Hound sighed and rubbed their temple. “Do you have any other questions?”

_ Oh this has to be a trick. _

Hound never allowed questions about themself. There were so many he could pick from, and even if this was a trap, he wanted them answered. If this was a real opportunity, he had to risk it. 

“Did you teach yourself this?”

“No, not entirely. I learned from watching the person who did it.” 

“Can’t you just go to them when you need to be fixed?”

Hound turned to look at him, and he saw something downright hateful in their expression. It didn’t feel like it was directed at him, but this was clearly something that angered them.

“No. That is not an option.” 

He’d never heard their voice like this before. It was low, almost robotic, but they spoke the words with an intensity that filled the air in the room with a certain electricity. He’d found a sore spot, but “sore” didn’t really do their tone justice. He could see their jaw clenching, like they were restraining themself from speaking further. 

“Oh, um okay.”

“I allowed you to watch because I might need your help with this one day. Certain areas are more difficult to do on my own, and it is much faster if I have assistance. Plus, you do have experience with technology so I do not think I will have to explain absolutely everything to you if I  _ do _ require help.” 

“Ah. Guess you could guess my next question, huh?”

“I supposed I could guess what it would be. It seemed fairly obvious.”

“Oof, so I’m getting predictable?”

“Mhm. Any other questions?” 

Elliott thought for a moment. “Do they ever just like, fall out?”

Hound gave him a look as they untied the tourniquet. “No. There is a powdered adhesive that comes on the threads. That’s what the solvent is for.” 

“Do you make them yourself?”

“Where exactly in my cabin did you see the space for this kind of manufacturing?”

“Jeez, apparently you’re feeling sassy.” 

Hound shook their head, but he could see a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth. It was nice to see them smile, despite the worry in his gut. 

“I get them custom made. I have to use a fake name on the orders, but they typically just assume it is for a hobbyist so they do not ask many questions.”

“Yeah I feel like seeing “Bloodhound” on the order sheet might raise a couple of questions. Wait, is that even your like, legal name?”

Their smile grew to a full blown smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Elliott leaned back into his chair and raised an eyebrow. “I’m just saying, it’s unfair that you know like, everything about me and I don’t actually know your name.”

They shrugged. “I would not say I know  _ everything _ . I am not some stalker, you know.” 

“Oh yeah? What don’t you know?”

Hound pursed their lips and looked deep in thought. “Hm, I do not know your middle name.”

Elliott threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, they don’t know my middle name. Thank god, my greatest, most closely guarded secret is still safe.” 

“Sarcasm is unbecoming of you, Elliott.”

“It’s Noor.” 

“What?”

“That’s my middle name, Noor. Nu-r. You have the roll the ‘r’ or it doesn’t sound right.” 

Hound repeated the word, letting it roll smoothly off their tongue. Their accent made it sound a bit clumsy, but they weren’t too far off from saying it correctly. “It sounds pretty.”

Elliott laughed. “Yeah, it means ‘light’ in Arabic. My mom used to tease me about it, she always used to say ‘a pretty name for a pretty boy’ when I’d complain about it. I always thought I got the short end of the stick, considering my brothers all got cooler ones.” 

“In my language, it would be ‘Ijós’. I will admit, it sounds prettier in Arabic.” 

“Icelandic, right?” 

Hound’s forehead crinkled. “Yes, how did you know that?”

“After you cornered me in that alleyway, I looked up what you called me. Took a few tries to get the pron… um, to say it right.” 

If Elliott hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that Hound somehow got even paler. 

“You… know what I call you?”

“Yeah? Am I not supposed to?”

“No.”

“Oh. Oops.” 

Elliott tried to think of something to change the subject, and hopefully, to lift the awkwardness that had settled over both of them. 

“So, you excited to head back to the arena?”

Hound exhaled, and he got the sense they were just as grateful for the topic change as he was. “Yes, very much so. It has been far too long since I have gotten to test myself against worthy opponents. I look forward to seeing what the competition can offer. Are you?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m usually pretty nervous, but I think with you and Anita we’ll be fine.”

Hound offered him a smile. “Nerves are good. They keep a fighter on their toes, not that agility is usually your weak point. Hold onto that, it might save your life.”

Elliott rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, that’s easy for you to say. You’re not scared of anything.” 

If he’d blinked, he would have missed how their face cracked. Their lip quivered, their nose crinkled, and he saw their knuckles go white. It was too fast for him to register exactly what it was, and they reset their expression into a blank one. “What makes you think that?” 

“I-I don’t know. It’s just…”

Elliott had a million thoughts racing through his head, but he settled on one and kept speaking. “It’s the way you carry yourself, like everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be and that no one can touch you. When we were partners in the ring, you didn’t hesitate once. I’d seen you fight before we met, and it’s incredible. It’s not that you don’t care if you die, but, more so that you’re not  _ afraid _ if you do. Every time we set foot in that ring, we could die, but you keep walking on anyway. I just don’t know how you can do that.” 

Some of the tension left their body. “I have faith in myself, and in other things. I know what I am capable of, so there’s never any question of whether or not a challenge is within the realm of possibility. A lot of the competitors follow patterns, and patterns are just tracks that I can follow. Most brag about what technology they bring into the ring, which is all I need to know. Once I know that, I know the limits of it, and therefore I know their limits as a fighter.” 

Elliott whistled. “Man, that’s a very roundabout way of saying everyone else just sucks. I didn’t realize you could be so cocky.”

“I think I am allowed to be cocky, considering how many times I have won.” 

“Hey now, I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to! I am a fellow champion after all, I’ve been in more than my fair share of tight spaces and come out just fine, thank you.” 

“Oh yes, a real master, if boasting is a skill that can be mastered.”

“Hey there’s more that goes on behind the scenes than what you’d expect. People expect me to be a total idiot inside the ring, so it’s easier for me to surprise them. Plus, if they’re aiming for the loudmouth, it’s easier for my teammates to get around and do what they need to do. Diversions and bamboozles are my specialty, after all.” 

Hound cocked their head and looked surprised. “So it would seem. I see there’s a person behind all of,” they gestured to his body with their hand, “this.” 

“Yup, you bet there is. I’m actually quite humble, believe it or not.” 

“I do not know about that one, but I am excited to see you in action again. Hopefully it goes better this time around.” 

The scar on his side began to ache.

“Yeah, hopefully.” 

**Author's Note:**

> :D and now we get to see more of Hound! Ain't y'all excited?? I fuckin am because I've been sitting on my Hound headcanons for months and oh boy we're just getting started >:) buckle up kids, it's angst time. 
> 
> Ay so I probably won't be updating as much because I go back to work soon. I have an idea for another RE2 fic and a mini miragehound thing so maybe they'll go up before then, but I'm not sure. Sorry there was no spicy sex in this chapter, but y'all are gonna have to deal with me blue-balling you for a little while longer cuz it's plot time amigos!!! And oh boy she's gonna be a hell of a ride!!
> 
> Want to keep up to date with this fic, and also get to talk to a bunch of other weirdos who love dark fan fiction? Want a totally judgement free zone where you can talk about/create what ever the fuck you want? Join my beta and I's discord!! It's for us peeps who love fucked up fiction, and trust me when I say, literally everyone is welcome. I have the role of "corpse fucker" so like, you'll fit in no matter what you like. Vanilla peeps are welcome too ^-^ https://discord.gg/xNkTyCV
> 
> K that's it, cheers fellas  
> -P


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